


When It's Real

by Nomanono



Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Fluff and Angst, Genderfluid, Genderplay, M/M, Unresolved Sexual Tension
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-26
Updated: 2016-12-26
Packaged: 2018-09-12 09:53:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 3,025
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9066712
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nomanono/pseuds/Nomanono
Summary: Victor discovers all of Yuri's posters, and Yuri's favorite leads into gender play on both sides.





	1. Idol Discovery

**Author's Note:**

> Also available here: http://nomanono.tumblr.com/post/154494757276/when-its-real

“Yuuuri!”

Yuri’s heart fluttered, as it always did, when Victor called for him. He stood from the spring, grabbed a towel, and only then realized that Victor’s voice was coming from his bedroom. He choked in alarm.

“Victor!” he called as he ran. “What are you –”

He crashed into the sight of his bedroom being dismantled, Victor’s prying fingers opening his drawers and surveying his closet. 

“I want to know more about you,” Victor said. He reached for another drawer, sending Yuri’s heart plummeting to the ground.

“No!” Yuri leapt, but Victor had already unleashed a flood of posters shoved haphazardly away. A hundred different Victors danced to the ground while Yuri imagined how much nicer it would have been to die. 

“Hmm.”

Yuri didn’t breathe. Did he hate him? Think less of him? Did he realize finally that Yuri was nothing more than a glorified fan? Victor’s expression was unreadable. He bent and collected the posters, examining himself and then fanning them out to Yuri. 

“Which is your favorite?” Victor asked. 

_All of them_ Yuri wanted to say, almost as much as he wanted to die. _You are perfect_. His cheeks flared red and he stuttered under the gaze of so many seductive, smiling Victors. 

But one stood out; the one he’d posted at the foot of his bed, to see every morning when he woke up, every evening before he dreamt.

“This one?” Victor asked, catching Yuri’s lingering attention. He pulled out the poster as Yuri’s blush confirmed it.

Victor’s hair had been so long then, a silver cascade that drew out his most effeminate qualities. The ruffled, twinkling costume only added to the allure of genders crossed.

“Do you like it because I look like a woman, Yuri?” Victor asked. The question alone would have sent Yuri speechless, but as Victor spoke he set the posters down and angled his weight, letting his hips slip sideways like a pendulum beneath him. His hand fell to his chest, fingers turned up as if to caress or draw attention to breasts. Victor’s chin lifted, elongating his neck and curving it to accentuate the lines of his collar bone. 

_Don’t stare_ , Yuri screamed to himself, which then became: _stop staring!_ and finally _why are you still staring?!_

Victor’s soft laugh tinkled against his shoulders, followed by warm hands on his - he abruptly remembered - naked back. He found his face pushed into Victor’s chest and shivered.

“Is it different when it’s real?” Victor asked.

“It's perfect,” Yuri whispered into Victor’s shirt, convinced he wouldn’t hear. 

“Hmm?” Victor asked, pulling back, posture still markedly feminine.

“Better.”


	2. Step By Step

“Do you like when I’m more feminine?” Victor asked. His eyes never left Yuri as he stepped backward, every step receiving a full sway of his hips, a delicate cant to his jaw. When his calves hit the bed he sat, swinging one leg over the other and fanning his fingers on his knee. Whatever chill Yuri had felt was gone in an instant, evaporated by Victor’s sensuality.

“Is that why you chose that outfit?” Victor asked, his gaze hidden by his bangs now. He lied back on the bed, arching his back as if to accentuate his chest. His hands traced from his pectorals down to his hips, caressing his sides.

Yuri finally organized his thoughts enough to respond, but Victor cut him off.

“I miss it, sometimes,” he said, hand slicking up his chest, along his cheek and back into his hair. 

Yuri knelt beside the bed, his hand joining Victor’s in his hair. It felt like strands of silk, so soft they felt cool to the touch.

“Is it OK this long?”

“Mmm,” Yuri nodded, only his eyes and nose visible over the edge of the bed. Victor scooted towards him until he was close enough to touch his nose to Yuri’s.

Yuri didn’t mean to kiss him. He meant to –

Well, he wanted to kiss him, and then it was happening, and Victor’s lips were just as soft as his hair, softer, but warm like the breaking dawn. He felt the world spinning around him, not a wobbling, disorienting chaos but a perfect quad, balanced against Victor’s energy. When Yuri stopped kissing him he didn’t feel the flush of embarrassment that normally accompanied his revelations about Victor. There was just ….. calm. Rightness. He sat with the sensation, silent, eyes downcast.

“Yuri…” Victor whispered. Yuri tilted his head to the side because it was easier than meeting Victor’s eyes and seeing disappointment. He had to be disappointed, didn’t he?

Victor sat up, long legs on either side of Yuri, and cupped his fingers around Yuri’s chin.

“You told me to never take my eyes off of you,” Victor said, lifting Yuri’s chin. But still Yuri’s eyes strayed to the side. “Look at me.”

Yuri took a deep breath and exhaled, raising his eyes to Victor, and that was when Victor kissed him in return.


	3. Inspiration

Time stretched without end, all the world reduced to two soft lips and a delicate heat. There was nothing else. No embarrassment. No anxiety. No fear.

Yuri rose up on his knees, drawn helplessly to that warmth. He pressed back against Victor’s lips, and then his knees were on either side of Victor, towel forgotten, and he settled in Victor’s lap.

When time finally snapped back into place Yuri found his face streaked with tears and buried them against Victor’s neck. He trembled while Victor held him, hugged him close, and let the world slip away once more.

They didn’t speak of it for weeks, and Yuri had just convinced himself it was a dream when Victor pulled him into a costume shop while wandering Moscow.

“Victor, what are you –” Yuri gasped as Victor tugged him deeper between the racks and mannequins. He jerked behind his coach until an abrupt stop had him careen into Victor’s back.

“Stay here, Yuri,” Victor said, and then he was gone.

“Victor!” Yuri called.

Only silence answered. A few glances confirmed he was alone with the costumes, a sea of hats and jackets and suits his new companions. With a shuddering glance at a limp clown mask, he pulled out his phone, flicking through his friends’ posts and trying not to wonder about Victor.

A tap on his shoulder made him jump and twist around, confronted by a familiar sight. Even the pose was identical to the one on the poster, and Victor had drawn back and braided parts of the silver wig to match his prior hairstyle.

“Auh-” Yuri gaped.

Victor draped himself primly around Yuri’s shoulders, cheeks touching.

“Yuri,” Victor teased. Yuri could feel his breath tickle his neck. “Will you take me home and hang me on your wall?”

“…You are not carry on size,” Yuri considered.

“Buh!” Victor deflated.

“Besides, now I know what the real thing is like I don’t want you on my wall,” Yuri said.

“Where do you want me? Do you mean when I was on your bed?” Victor asked curiously. Yuri’s blush finally blossomed.

“Your Eros performance after that was perfect,” Victor said. “Perhaps I could inspire you again?” He pulled back, touching a finger to his chin in thought. “A good coach should always know how to inspire his student.”

“Victor!”

But Victor was already laughing, returning to the cashier and paying for the wig. “Come on, Yuri! Inspiration awaits!”


	4. Show Me Eros

A chance encounter with Yurio distracted Victor from his inspiration. By the time they returned to their room Yuri could do little more than fall on his face and sleep.

It wasn’t until they were back in Hasetsu that Victor brought it up again. Yuri had been lost in thought that day, listing around the rink, lap after lap punctuated only by the occasional single or footwork combination. Victor danced across the ice and explained technique as the pick of his blade bit white scars on the smooth surface. But Yuri could hardly pay attention. 

“You were not on the ice at all today,” Victor mused that evening as Yuri changed into his nightwear.

He’d asked, throughout the day, what was going on - what Yuri was thinking about - but Yuri had evaded every time, and did now as well. Victor watched thoughtfully as Yuri pulled out his phone, idling.

Yuri didn’t even notice when Victor disappeared, only looked up from his phone a half hour later when Victor’s weight beside him jostled the bed. 

“It was like this last time,” Victor said, using the authoritarian voice he relied on when he was trying to coach Yuri. The wig wasn’t braided or pulled back. It rested along his spine in a wave of silver, leading Yuri’s eyes to his hips. He sat exactly as had before, with that same soft curvature he’d emphasized the first time, “Only you were in my lap. Naked.”

Yuri choked. “Victor!” 

Victor gazed sideways, the corner of his mouth turned up in consideration, “Afterwards, you performed _Eros_ perfectly. Perhaps this can help you contemplate love again.”

Phone discarded, Yuri’s hands tightened in his lap. “You always make me contemplate love,” Yuri said. 

“And you’ve gotten better,” Victor said. His fingers spidered along Yuri’s wrist only to catch and tug the boy up off the bed. “Stand up. Try to seduce me now.”

“Keh!” Yuri grimaced, looking down at his baggy nightshirt and pants. 

“True seduction comes from here,” Victor said, touching Yuri’s heart. “Your eyes show your spirit. That determines your sexiness, your sensuality, not this.” He brushed the fabric of the shirt between his two fingers. 

And with that he reclined on the bed like a goddess, hair pooling around him, legs tucked, toes pointed.

Yuri stumbled to the center of the room before twisting around to face the bed. He swallowed at the smile in Victor’s eyes.

“Show me _Eros_ , Yuri.”


	5. What's Mine

_Eros_ , Yuri thought. _How am I supposed to embody eros like this? Next to that?_ He stared at Victor: twirling a silver lock around his finger, eyes gentle but stern in their expectation. Waiting.

 _Victor Nikiforov chose me_ , Yuri realized. _Victor Nikiforov is_ my _coach. He’s in_ my _room_. That beautiful form he’d studied most of his life now reclined on his bed, intimately focused on him. _Victor Nikiforov, right now, is mine_.

The corner of Yuri’s lips pulled back. Lustful pride darkened his eyes, and in a single motion he’d transitioned from a tired slump to a strong, pasadoble lunge. His hand cut through the air, fully extended to Victor, as if trying to summon him by sheer force alone. He saw the curve of Victor’s neck and the fall of his hair and brought his hand close, tracing it up his body the way he’d seen Victor touch himself. He ignored the feel of his nightclothes and focused on the look in Victor’s eyes. 

Could he make Victor lean forward? 

Yuri turned away, stalking backwards from Victor, then flicked to face him once more, one arm arched above his head and the other tracing a semicircle around him. He let his lips part and prowled towards the bed, every step slow and measured and when he was almost within range of Victor he bent forward, nearly there, nearly touching, inviting. 

And snapped back. 

This time as his hands came up his sides he let them catch on the material of his nightshirt. He teased the fabric upwards until it offered a fluttering reveal of his skin and the lines of his hip bones leading down. Remembering Victor’s attitude, he sunk his weight into one of his hips. He glanced over his shoulder, sizing himself up, and then whipped his eyes up to Victor’s. Caught the moment of surprise there, and then – there it was.

Victor’s body shifted forward, spirit reaching towards Yuri even if his limbs never moved. 

_Victor Nikiforov is mine_ , Yuri thought again. His hips moved lower with each sway, knees bending and hands gliding from his ankles up to his ass. Not as raunchy as Chris, not a full-bodied grab, but his fingers curled as they passed over the roundness on their way up his body. Up under his shirt. 

As he rose the shirt came up over his head. He turned to face Victor, holding the material in his hand like a trophy, and then cast it aside. 

_Look at my hips_ , Yuri thought, and the rest of him held still, isolating that rhythmic undulation. Victor’s eyes were drawn to the motion, and as soon as Yuri had caught Victor’s attention he changed the undulation into thrusts, lowering a hand so that he could press against it as he moved and biting the back of his other hand. 

This was eros. 

_Look at my lips_ , Yuri thought. He brought the hand at his crotch up his bare chest to his cheek and teased his tongue at the edge of his lower lip. Victor’s eyes followed, a puppy on a leash, bound to whatever Yuri wanted of him. 

And Yuri wanted him. 

_Want me too._


	6. Want Me Too

_Want me too_ , Yuri willed.

This time Yuri was the one taking Victor’s chin in his hand, brown eyes piercing blue. _You are mine, Victor Nikiforov_ , they said.

“If I seduced you, then kiss me,” Yuri commanded.

And Victor did. 

It wasn’t like before. It wasn’t calm, centered, balanced. It was a match thrown into a barrel of gasoline. Lightning bursting from the clouds. It was the broad luminance of Yuri’s eros magnified into a single, blazing point of light. 

Yuri pressed Victor back, landing in a halo of silver strands. His hands covered Victor’s body the way he’d caressed his own, gliding up Victor’s thighs, squeezing his ass, lifting up his shirt, and never, ever stopping the kiss. He could die kissing Victor Nikiforov and it would be the best thing that ever happened to him. 

Victor’s arms lay near his head, fingers curled, helpless, a damsel beneath Yuri’s advances.

And then Yuri’s hand moved down. Down Victor’s pectorals. Down the taut river stones of his stomach. Down the smooth, promising triangular flat. 

That was when Victor’s head fell back and he keened Yuri’s name, right as Yuri grabbed, right as Yuri squeezed.

“Yuri!” he gasped into Yuri’s mouth. And then, with a sudden moment of clarity: “Yuri.”

Yuri opened his eyes, staring into Victor’s. Both were panting like they’d just broken records, their chests pressing together with every breath. 

“Is this what you want, Yuri?” Victor asked, the arousal still so clear in him, the delicacy. 

“Yes,” Yuri said, more confident in this than he had ever been in himself. 

Victor kissed him again, slow - agonizingly slow - and then pulled back. 

“Show me in Barcelona. Show me on the ice,” Victor said. “Win gold, and I will be your prize.”


	7. Crash

Certain things had to happen before Yuri felt entitled to his prize. Beyond winning gold, of course. Maybe it was hubris to even think he could win Victor. But if he could, if he did… 

Yuri never would have called himself traditional, and yet he found himself drawn to the golden rings, the promise that it wasn’t just some prize to be won, that there was something deeper, longer, more meaningful behind it all. 

Victor’s face was a mask as Yuri slipped the ring on his finger, stuttering and red-cheeked for more than just the cold. He couldn’t even remember what he said. What had he said? But he remembered Victor’s voice telling him to do what he liked best.

And then: “We’ll get married when Yuri wins the gold medal.”

Victor had understood, even as Yuri had mumbled around it and tried to deny. Victor knew what those rings meant. 

When they returned to their room Yuri held Victor for as long as he could before he felt silly. A few blissful minutes of just feeling Victor’s heat, feeling the breath in Victor’s chest. Victor stayed silent, _there_ in a way no one else had been there for Yuri before.

He slept. He woke. He went into the rink.

Then his fingers brushed the ice, and everything came crashing down.


	8. The Goal of Gold

Yuri sat beside Victor on the window ledge, staring out across the Barcelona skyline. He was exhausted. Physically. Emotionally. The silver medal was already packed, out of sight. 

Nothing to be proud of. 

Not in Victor’s eyes. 

Yuri had oscillated back and forth all day - despair, elation, shame, pride, joy, and now…. 

“Does this mean… we get married next year?” Yuri asked in a whisper. 

“Mmmm,” Victor said. He held his hand up to the window, looking at his ring and then the twinkling city between his fingers. “When you win gold.”

Yuri stared at the ring. “…what if _you_ win gold.”

“Don’t you dare let me,” Victor twisted to look at Yuri head on, the expression in them an anger and determination Yuri hadn’t seen before.

“I –” 

“I mean it, Yuri,” Victor said. “You could never hurt me more than that.” 

Yuri met that determination with a nod. “I promise, Victor. I’ll give everything.”

Victor kept his stern look a moment longer, then relaxed and sighed.

“That isn’t what you were asking, though, is it?” he said softly. Yuri glanced over at him, eyes dipping down and up again with a swallow.

“I can wait,” Yuri said. “We should wait. I just….” 

Doubt clouded his eyes again, fear that he would never win, that he would never be worthy, that even here, right next to Victor, the man was infinitely out of reach. He felt tears stinging his eyes, those overworked emotions overwhelming him and spilling free. 

Victor cupped his cheek, thumb wiping the tears away. 

“It’s important to you that we’re married first, only you’re worried we’ll never get married. You’re worried Victor Nikiforov is not a good enough coach,” Victor said, using his smile to try and get Yuri to do the same. 

“Or too good of a rival,” Yuri murmured. 

“You beat me today,” Victor said. 

Yuri looked away, back out the window. He tipped his forehead against the glass, letting the chill of it seep into his skin. 

“I don’t want to beat you,” Yuri whispered. “I just want to be with you.”


End file.
